


Petrichor

by seasalticecream32



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3805045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasalticecream32/pseuds/seasalticecream32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin hated the smell of rain. It reminded him of lake fog and muddy ground and the sharp cut of metal in the air. He dreamed of pushing away rain clouds and drying up puddles and cursing the ground to stay dry until it coughed up his King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

Merlin hated the smell of rain. It reminded him of lake fog and muddy ground and the sharp cut of metal in the air. He dreamed of pushing away rain clouds and drying up puddles and cursing the ground to stay dry until it coughed up his King.

He spent many afternoons watching the downpour and hearing the thunder and fighting back flashes of memory. Blood on his hands, cold chainmail under his palm, a raspy declaration of farewell. He closed his eyes and counted until he couldn’t see blue eyes and blond hair and pale lips behind his eyelids.

Merlin hated the sound of thunder and the clash of lightning. They reminded him of cackling witches and the burn of power. They reminded him of the roar of a waterfall and the edge of his destiny cracking like fragile glass. Lightning glinted with a clang of swords and broke like beating hooves on wet ground.

He put on headphones and blasted music loud enough to drown out even the loudest storm. He moved and worked and pushed and broke until he collapsed exhausted into sleep. If he dreamed of a warm hand pressing into his, the weight of a medallion burning his fingers, and a soft voice breaking over unuttered confessions, then no one was any wiser. He woke to ear buds twisted round his neck and his iPod hot under his pillow.

Merlin hated the rain until he didn’t.

Because when **he** came back it was with the _tink tap_ of water on rooftops and the _pop blop_ of puddles in the streets. Merlin had his hood up and his earphones in and he wasn’t even watching where he walked. He’d turned a corner, looked up, and was struck still where he stood.

Dripping wet and in all his golden glory had been Arthur, _Merlin’s_ Arthur, with a jacket swung over his shoulder and a smile on his lips and eyes a stormier blue than any dark sky. Merlin would always remember the smell of rain in the air and the feel of cold dripping down his neck and face and back. He’d always remember the too loud slap of his footsteps on the sidewalk and the briefest surprise when he’d lunged at broad shoulders and strong arms and blond hair he hadn’t seen in centuries.

It took 2000 years but eventually, Merlin could appreciate the rain again.


End file.
